Things Fall Apart
by WeFellOut
Summary: Portia Fisher was never supposed to be the one to go back to 1944. No, the one they chose is dead. In a last effort to go back and fix things, she finds herself in over her head with Hogwart's Head Boy, Tom. It's a slippery slope from there on out and it's not a matter of fixing things anymore. It's about not screwing things up further from what they already are..
1. The Feeling of Drowning

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 1 – The Feeling of Drowning**

**Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this once, though this applies to all following chapters as well. J.K. Rowling owns a ton of stuff in this fanfiction - basically everything you recognize as hers. The rest is mine. I should think this obvious, however, I'm putting this here just in case. Also, the Title is taken/borrowed/used (whatever) from Chinua Achebe's own 'Things Fall Apart'. Lastly, this is rated M for a reason, I literally have no shame.**

* * *

**I** fell backwards and kept on falling backwards. It was like slipping through the cracks of the docks down at Lake Vermillion. It had been like drowning and not breathing. When it finally stopped, I sputtered for air; surprised when it came and filled my sad sorry lungs that had done so much crying these past few months. Months that now will never happen again. I hope.

The thing most people forget is that the wizarding war had not only affected Europe, but well… I doubt you could find _anywhere_ across the globe untouched by it, honestly. My school had been under the assault of Death Eaters a mere month after the war started at Hogwarts. We were working for a way to win as well; working closely under the instructions Dumbledore had left the day he died.

I shiver as I look around, wondering if a dead man's instructions are really promising at all. Then, I get up. Anything's better than the way it ended up. Dumbledore dead. Potter dead. Everyone dead. I inhale sharply. For the millionth time I remember everything falling to shit as I walk shakily up to the castle anyways. For instance, I'm not supposed to be the one they sent back to 1944. He had gotten himself killed – my best fucking friend, Cole – another child forced to fight the war.

"Disambiguation," I whisper to the gargoyle and it slides aside. Ecstatic that some remnants of the plan are going well, I confidently climb up the stairwell to Dippet's office.

When I enter he looks up startled. "Uh miss?"

I sit myself down and start to explain. Grindelwald's forces, family dead, no living relatives in America, Aunt in Bristol, Student transfer... I've run through the facts, improvising here and there (I hadn't studied it like Cole had), and when I'm done with my story Dippet looks convinced. I throw a smile in for good measure and he smiles back at me happily.

"Well, term starts tomorrow so I daresay you arrived just in time. I'll have one of the teachers escort you to Diagonal Alley – erm, this place in London where you can find supplies for your classes – and such," he says, leaning back in his seat, "Pokey!"

With a pop a house elf appeared, bowing low. "Yes sir?"

"You will be escorting Miss…"

"Fisher," I filled in for him.

"Right, Miss Fisher to Professor Dumbledore. Explain to him that Miss Fisher is a transfer student and that she'll need school supplies and lodgings until the sorting ceremony."

My heart leaps a mile high. It had been determined that the plan wouldn't be repeated to the Dumbledore of 1944, but now- now that everything has changed, I feel like I need to.

When we get to his office my mouth falls open. Dumbledore looks so.. young. But that isn't what causes my jaw to drop. Seeing him alive is so much more different than being told that he would be. I catch his twinkling eyes and forget about telling him anything before Pokey starts explaining my situation.

* * *

**I** skip to the windows facing the Black Lake and watch as carriages drawn by thestrals and little wooden boats slowly make their way up to the castle. Running down the corridor, I walk to the entrance hall as the boats hit the sand and first years file out. The carriages have already arrived and people flood through, chatting happily with their friends. Nobody seems to notice me, which I don't mind. I scan the crowd for Riddle, but it is a fruitless attempt. I mean, I've never even seen him before. I repeat in my head his description: black hair, black eyes, pale skin, tall, handsome.

I walk down with the first years and as they were called one by one, I soon become the only one left.

"Now, before we end the sorting ceremony, we have one last student to whom we must welcome to Hogwarts. Portia Fisher," Dippet calls from the stand in the front of the Great Hall.

I skip up to the stool and the batty old hat is placed upon the crown of hair that falls to my stomach.

_Hmmm, a time traveller, _the old hat rasps, _An… American! Haven't had either of those in quite a while._ My eyebrows furrow, and I am about to protest when he cuts in, _No, no, no, you're secret is safe with me. Ack! Mein gott! _I wince at his sudden exclamation. _Oh, sorry. It's just… your memories. You've had a dark past, no? _I look down, sullenly. _Now, to where you belong…_ My eyes shoot up again. _Gryffindor perhaps? Or maybe Slytherin?_ Yes, I say quickly. Slytherin. The determination in my voice leaves no room for argument and a moment later the hat says, _very well. "SLYTHERIN!" _(Is it appropriate to have three exclamation marks? Oh well, three exclamation marks it is.)

The houses applaud politely, even the Slytherins don't cheer – of course their pureblood mannerisms prevent them from jumping up and down and cheering enthusiastically like the other houses do for their new housemates… Instead, a poorly suppressed hum of excitement fills the hall. I walk calmly towards the Slytherin house table. As I walk down to the very end I look around for Tom Riddle, but I don't see anyone matching the description I was given and in that moment I panic. Though my exterior remains calm and collected, inside I have compiled a mountain load of questions. The biggest being 'what if I've gotten it all wrong?' What if Tom Riddle isn't here during 1944? What if they miscalculated or something and it isn't 1944 at all?

Someone moves to sit next to me and I turn to see a girl with her hand outstretched. "Laurel Greengrass," she says, all prim and proper. She has one of those super pointed noses and her hair has been stretched back into a painfully tight elegant bun.

"Portia," I reply, grabbing her hand and giving it a yank or two. She looks taken aback by my casual manner and almost offended. "Fisher," I finish more aptly, and she seems to remember herself and straighten up.

"Fisher? Never heard of a 'Fisher' before. Are you a…" she stops, then drops her voice to a scandalous whisper, "Mudblood?" Her eyes dance like flames and I can see the piety behind them. As if she's just hoping that I'll say yes so that she can hurt me in some way – maybe smash my face into my bowl of peas.

"No. Of course not," I say, hating the words that taste like ashes in my mouth. But that is what I am supposed to say, what the plan necessitates. It's not a lie either. It just hurt to say it in such a tasteless way, going against everything I fought for in my past, in this time's future.

Laurel seems to note my distasteful tone, however, and she says, "A sympathizer then?"

"No," I reply a little too hastily, then cover up with, "I suppose I don't care either way. What will be, will be." As I consider how ironic my words are seeing as I've travelled back in time to change what 'will be', Laurel seems satisfied at last and crunches a bit of salad in her mouth.

"So you're from America, then?"

I nod and she continues, "Well why are you here now?" She stops and seems shocked at herself. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I mean, what brings you to Hogwarts, if I may ask?"

"My parents died in the wizarding war. I have an aunt here," I say not elaborating any further. Changing the topic, I decide to ask about Tom. "Uh, Laurel, I was wondering… I'm supposed to find the Head boy later, transfer stuff, you know, and I was wondering.. uh, wondering who-?" Of course, this is a lie, but she doesn't know that.

Laurel's eyes darken and I don't even have to finish before she says sharply, "Tom?"

"Uh.. is that his name? Tom?" I lie again and for a second I think she thinks I'm lying too as if it's ridiculous that someone doesn't know Tom, _the_ Tom, it would seem.

Then, the incredulous look is wiped off her face and she laughs. "Oh yes, you'll love him, Portia. He's such a gentleman." Though she said this sounding giggly, I could see the malice behind her eyes as if she were threatening to chop my ears off if I so much as look at Tom. _The_ Tom. _Her _Tom. I laugh at this. As if Tom- no, Voldemort could reciprocate any such feelings, the loveless bastard.

Laurel looks at me with narrow eyes. I bet she thinks I'm mocking her or something. The thought makes me want to laugh even harder. Someone squishes in on the other side of me and I turn to see the dazzling white of teeth.

"Hello," a smirking boy says in greeting, "Malfoy. Blond Malfoy."

I spit out the mouthful of pumpkin juice I was about to gulp down and literally laughed in his face. "Is that seriously even a name? Blond? You're joking right?" This boy had the blondest of blond hairs and his name was freaking – Oh my god, this was too much.

"Er, yes," he says, his mouth twisted disapprovingly, but then he sighs and seems to forgive me for laughing, "My dear mother, in the lucid moments of my birth decided to name me the first thing that popped into her head."

I start to snicker again, but quell my snickers by shoving a fork full of mash into my mouth. Once I'm ready to speak again, I apologize, "Sorry, it's just that I couldn't help it."

He waves me off, "It's nothing. So," he throws up his arms, "How are you liking Hogwarts thus far?"

I raise my eyebrow. _Thus Far?_ Did people really used to say that? "I like it very much. It's nothing like Salem." When I say this I realize it's true and a sad feeling creeps over me.

"Where's Tom? He is supposed to be Portia's tour guide or something," Laurel adds in as if she still hasn't moved on from the topic.

Blond snorts. "Tom's… busy." Blond and Laurel exchange loaded expressions.

"Busy doing what?" I ask, boldly. They snap out of their look quickly.

Blond shrugs. "Head boy stuff," and I leave it at that.

* * *

Term started right before this weekend, so I have two whole days to finish exploring the castle. I was already given a basic tour by the Head Girl, a Ravenclaw who didn't seem to like me very much. "The Gryffindor common room is somewhere in this area," the Head Girl had said, "I wouldn't associate with _them_ if I were you. Blood Traitors, all of them. _And_, they've been in last place for the House cup for _ages_." Her high pitched snivelly voice had made my head ache.

I run up the changing staircase up to the sixth floor. Peeking into most of the rooms, I find myself drawn to two large carved doors. Without bothering to read the sign, I push them open to find rainbow pools and fountains that make up a _huge_ elegant bath room. I stand right on the edge of the water, looking down at how the colors tangle and mix together. I have always been strangely fascinated with water, possibly because I've lived in fear of it since a young age. I shiver at the memory of Lake Vermillion, of water filling up my lungs and step away. Pained moans are coming from behind the colossal fountain head and I cautiously make my way around it.

My jaw drops as the sight of a tall boy, his lips slightly parted and his black hair sopping wet, standing under a running showerhead working steadily on his erect member. I had just walked in on _the_ dark lord relieving himself and for some reason I just know that is him. It has to be. Another deep groan escapes his mouth and I shuffle backwards, but he hears me and his eyes instantly snap open. He doesn't even look ashamed, just incredibly mad. I start to apologize, taking several steps back when I go over the edge of the pool and am submerged in the water.

Panic fills me and I gulp for air before I realize the pool is shallow enough to wade through and I drag myself out (I had to drag myself out for my robes had become unimaginably heavy when it got wet). Sputtering, I look up to see Tom, a towel now clinging lowly on his waist and a furious expression on his face.

"How did _you_ get in _here?_" he hisses, raising his wand to my throat. I blink stupidly, mind reeling. Wrong answer. With his wand he directs me into the air, dumping me in the water multiple times like a chocolatey cookie in milk before keeping me submerged there until I'm sure I'll die. My screams break the surface only a couple of times. Sure, I could use nonverbal magic in the water to get me out, however, in the water, terror takes control of every aspect of my brain. I remember nearly dying in Lake Vermillion again. Finally, he seems to have gotten bored and lifts his magic. However, I still thrash around until he levitates me out of the pool.

"What are you doing here?" he demands, his eyes flashing red as I'm dropped to the ground, my knees hitting the hard stone floor. I have no doubt in my mind that it's him now.

I cough out water and after a couple minutes I shakily respond, "I was just looking around and then I heard you, uh, groaning and stuff." I felt my cheeks heat up and I peer up at him slyly and try to summon some courage.

"You were just… _looking around_," he states, livid. "Getting past the protective wards that only allow the Head Boy and Girl entry is called looking around… There's even a sign on the fucking door. _Head's Bath Room._ You call that just _looking around_?"

My eyebrow knits together. "Protective wards?" His eyes narrow, taking in my genuine puzzlement. He walks over to the door and places his hand on the frame, as if trying to sense any traces of magic. He narrows his eyes again, and looks me up and down.

"How… strange," he circles around me and I shiver slightly. "And what of the sign? Do you expect me to believe you just ignored it and came in on a whim?" His eyes are flashing again and I gulp because that is exactly what happened. He seems to accept this for an answer and continues, "So you're the new transfer."

I find my voice again, and it comes out stronger than I thought it would, which gives me hope. "And you're the Head Boy. I didn't think trying to drown new students was part of the agenda."

His eyes flash red. "Not my fault you can't swim." I roll my eyes at him, wringing out my robes. I turn to look at him again and am pushed roughly against the damp rock walls of the castle. "Take this as a warning, your _last _and _only_ warning. You will learn very quickly that things are different here at Hogwarts then they are back in America," his whisper scorches my ears, "And, you will not speak of this to anyone." He backs away a couple of inches and the look he gives me finishes the sentence: _or you will be very, very sorry._

He lets go of me. I gape dumbly at him, then snap back into the present. "Hey! My wand!" I exclaim, watching him twirl my wand between his slender fingers.

"A lesson." The ends of his mouth curl upwards in an unpleasant smile.

I huff, stepping forwards. "Give that back! Classes are tomorrow!"

"Then you better be very nice to me from now on," he smirks and pockets my wand. "Run along."

I glare at him, the sudden urge to push him into the water running a little too strong. However, I turn and march through the door – glancing back once to see him still staring at me as if I'm a mystery he's straining to fathom. I issue a ferocious glower, wishing him an unbearable pain, but he only laughs which manages to tick me off even more. I stomp out of the hall, dripping wet, crossing my arms like a bad tempered child. Boy was I not off to a great start.

**Telling you right now that sometimes I just don't update or I'll update on certain stories and go hiatus on other ones (I've had an old account). It's a thing I do… Right now I have four chapters of this already written and I'll post them one by one when it feels right, so I can at least promise you four chapters.**


	2. Shaking Hands With Death

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 2 – Shaking Hands With Death**

* * *

I sit up quickly, waking from my dream with a moan. I can hardly believe I've had a dream about Riddle. Of course, it's just my abysmal luck that he had been just as lacking in clothing in my dream (or should I say nightmare) as he had yesterday in the Head's Bath Room. They had told me he was handsome, and for some reason I hadn't paid the thought any attention. I smack my hand against my face. _Urnngnn_. I curse myself quietly. By Merlin Cole would laugh his head off if he were here now.

I had also been told that Tom would be slightly older than myself, but the extent of this had not crossed my mind. I hadn't taken into account that he'd be riddled (hah) with hormones. Seeing him in such a vulnerable, indecent act made him seem less like of an idea – this feared idea… and more like a human.

I brush my teeth, staring into the mirror. Is human even the right word? My mind flickers back to the inhuman look on his face when he had me crushed against the wet walls of the Head's Bath Room. "You're a monster," I snarl after spitting out the toothpaste and swishing water under my cheek to get rid of any toothpaste residue.

"Now there's no need to be so hard on yourself," Laurel says, having had just walked in and clearly thinking that I was referring to myself, "Some of us just wake up ready to go and some just don't." I frown at this, reaching for a comb to run threw my messy waves, but Laurel grabs it before I do. "Here, let me," she says, "Don't worry, I used to do this all the time for my little sister."

I shut my eyes, prepared for her to yank most of my hair out and pull it into a tight bun like her own hair, but she softly and slowly runs it through my hair, also using her fingers to untangle any knots. I keep my eyes closed, liking this strangely pleasant pampering.

When I open them again I see my hair in the mirror, not only spilling out neatly in every direction, past my shoulders, but with a simple braid on one side. The ends of my lips twitched upwards. "Thanks."

"No problem. What are friends for?" At this I turn towards Laurel. She doesn't notice, seeing as she's bent before the mirror, leaning in to do her makeup. She may be the average biased, snooty pureblood, but I couldn't help but feel grateful towards her in this moment.

"Ready?" she says, making a loud 'pop' with her lips after applying her lip gloss.

"Yep."

She turns, smiling. Then, upon seeing me she raises her eyebrows. "No, no, no. No one wears their uniform like that." She tugs at my skirt, adjusting it to rest several inches higher then it had been before. Then waving her wand, she mutters something and it stays snug there. "You're welcome," she says pointedly. "Lip gloss?"

"Uh, no, I'll be fine." She shrugs as if it is my loss and we walk down the staircase, out the commons, and to the Great Hall.

When I first enter, I see him staring back at me; dark eyes calling me towards him. He still has my wand. He must know that I cannot leave for my first class without it. He's banking on it, I know it. He's daring me to confront him, I see it in the polite little smile which I am itching to slap off his face.

"Save me some food," I say, indicating the area where we had sat at yesterday, "I need to have a word with the Head Boy." I walk down to where Tom is sitting and slide in beside him.

"Good morning," he says, genially, spreading some strawberry jam on his toast. "Sleep well?"

I narrow my eyes, mind frantic. He couldn't know about the dream I had, there was no way! I assure myself his words have no double meaning before continuing on. "Fine," I reply, drily, "Do you have my wand?"

He looks at me as if I'm stupid ~ as if to say _of course, you silly girl, don't be daft._ I roll my eyes. "Well may I have it back?" I say, sweetly, though I'm fairly certain I'm fooling no one – my words are laced with loathing.

"Sure," he says, happily, before starting to eat his toast. He doesn't say more and instead he finishes his breakfast to the last crumb, licking the jam off his fingers when he's done. I look away at this, hiding a shudder. Then, my eyes zoom back to him with the realization that he's manipulating me! That dream had to have been because of his manipulative ways! I squint at him, sizing him up as his true potential threat becomes apparent. He's doesn't just kill using his wand. Not just Avada Kedavra, nor Crucio. If that were the case, any madman could've achieved what he had. No, he's cunning and _gorgeous_. One look at his angel-like appearance could cause someone to forget his true nature. _Monster_, I repeat silently.

"What?" he asks sharply and I snap out of my internal monologue. I hadn't just said that aloud, I know I hadn't. Oh, I'd be such a fool if I did. "You just mouthed something."

"Oh," I say, relieved, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "Sorry, I was thinking."

"Well that explains the strained expression." I glare at him, about to throw an insult back at him, but he continues, "Anyways, I've decided I _will_ give you your wand back." He produces it from one of the pockets of his robes. I reach out to accept it from him, but he brings it out of my grasp. "Uh-uh, first, I'll need something in return." A authentic smile forms on his face, unnerving me far more than any of his polite false ones. "Five questions," he states, before elaborating, "You will answer five questions truthfully no matter what the questions are, each to be asked whenever I want."

"Fine," I say (of course with the full intention of never fulfilling such a stupid agreement). My hand reaches out for my wand, but instead, his other hand grabs it. He squeezes and I realize there's something in his hand. It is pointy and draws blood so I yelp, now legitimately frightened. When he lets go I see a dark metal object with spikes, stained with some of my blood and some of his.

"What. The. Fuck," I gasp, "You freaking psychopath!"

"My apologies, I just had to ensure that you'd go through with your promise," he says, handing me my wand.

My eyes dance back to the metal talisman. "Is that a dark artifact?"

His lips twist into an awful smile and he ignores my question, supplying instead, "I have somewhere to be, so if you'll excuse me.." He gets up, but before he goes he adds thoughtfully, "Oh, and ten points from Slytherin for your foul language at the breakfast table." He leaves without another word, and I mutter several more curse words under my breath. _That bastard_.

I hide my bleeding hand in my pocket and return to where Laurel is sitting. "Don't worry," she says, "Riddle's like that with most girls." My eyebrows knitted together, confused. Surely, she hadn't noticed the talisman? It just didn't fit with what she's saying. "I mean, I don't blame you, we've all tried," she prattles on, "He's gorgeous. So if it makes you feel better, you're not the only one he's rejected. In fact, many have been rejected more than once."

I laugh, finally catching on. Of course she hadn't seen a thing. It must have looked like any regular handshake and with the frustration on my face the entire time I could see why Laurel had thought I had actually tried to… flirt?

"Don't worry," she says, looking at me as if I've gone insane – after all, my laugh probably made me sound unhinged. "At least he's always polite about it." _Ah, yes_, I say bitterly to myself, _Well played, Riddle._ I bet that's how he declines every girl. I can only imagine the distant and detached feeling and the sound of hearts breaking from being so politely rejected with the shake of a hand.

I clutch my wand tightly, wincing as I nonverbally heal it. My hand no longer hurts, but the memory of it does.

Laurel and I eat breakfast quickly; only having around ten minutes before our first class after chatting leisurely. Laurel explains to me that our first class, Charms, is with this wrinkly old midget named Flitwick. Indeed, when we enter, there is a rather old, rather small man standing on a small podium, greeting the class merrily. I decide that regardless of Laurel's distaste, that I like him.

"Now students, settle down," Flitwick says jovially, "Not, too comfortable, now ~ I'll be assigning you seats in a moment." The whole class groans (the two houses present are Gryffindor and Slytherin), but Flitwick just tut-tuts happily, "Now you all remember the incident last year with Willis Durvey and the expanding sea-monkeys."

"But that was a Hufflepuff! Our lot had nothing to do with it!" a Slytherin near the front piped up, outraged.

Flitwick miraculously doesn't seem to hear him and hops off his podium to his desk and retrieves a roll of parchment, presumably, with our seating arrangements mapped out.

I end up sitting in the same spot, but Laurel had been moved around to the front of the room. I huff as I rearrange the stuff at my table, bored. Finally, Flitwick gets down to the R's.

"Riddle, ah oh yes, Tom!" he exclaims happily. I try to drown them out and doodle on the edge of my parchment. "Next to Miss Fisher." My gaze jerks upwards and I watch in horror as Tom strides over to the spot next to me and then sits down as takes his seat. I feel him watching me, but I don't tear my eyes from my drawing; feebly running the quill over older lines, making them thicker and thicker.

"Ouroboros," he says, looking at my doodle of a snake eating its own tail, "Some say it signifies infinity, eternity, wholeness. Others insist it means self-destruction."

I roll my eyes. It is obvious he prefers the first meaning, casually adding in the second with much less grandeur. "Why can't it mean both?" I mutter. He studies me for a second and I swear he's thinking about horcruxes too. Ripping apart your soul for eternal life. I grimace, looking back up to meet the black pools of his eyes – eyes that reminded me of the darkest night skies with not a star in sight. No, his eyes didn't shine or twinkle at all.. They look dead and I shudder, turning to face the board.

* * *

Why does she regard me with disdain? Most girls would swoon had I just stared at them like I had just stared at her.

I think back to our first encounter in the Head's Bath Room – to the fact that she had passed the wards cast by the founders themselves. I had checked to make sure they were still up, and surely enough I could feel the powerful magic crackle underneath my fingers as I had ran them over the frame of the dark wooden doors.

I freeze as her arm brushes against mine when she tucks it by her side, hastily shrinking away from me at the contact. I'm annoyed by this, but I don't show it, pretending to be in rapture of the lesson being given by Flitwick. She thinks she can hide herself away from me? As if I would allow her that. She's strange, no, _special_ ~ a mystery for me to solve. _Mine._

**No, he's not in love, you dorks, nor is he infatuated. He's being possessive – a trait I feel like he's always had even in the books. In the books he feels like so many things are his by right. Namely, the founder's heirlooms or whatever. He likes special things like that, and to him, Portia is another special _thing._**

**_Yes,_**** I have an explanation as to why Portia passed through the wards. _No,_ it is not because she's some uber-witch who possesses unnaturally limitless powers. God..**

**And _yes, _there is a lot of shuddering going on in this chapter and for that I refuse to apologize. Go write your own Tom/OC if it bothers you.**


	3. The Taste of Defeat

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 3 – The Taste of Defeat**

* * *

She's been ignoring me this whole week, and plans on continuing to do so into the near foreseeable future. My face darkens as I spin my wand in one hand; a habit of mine. If she thinks that's going to work, she is either incredibly stupid, or stupidly naive – to be honest, probably both. I'm Head Boy of _Slytherin_, I have basically _every_ single class with her, and I'm _the_ Dark Lord.

"My knights," I address them, "Have you done as I asked?"

I notice everyone is looking towards one of the Parkinson brothers and he soon steps forward.

"Uh, my lord," he begins, licking his lips nervously, "She's from America, transferred from the Salem Institute of Young Witches and Wizards. Her parents are dead and her only living relative is an aunt in England. It is inferred that their deaths result from Grindelwald's forces in the U.S."

"This much I could've divined myself. Anything else? Anyone?" No one steps forth and I dismiss this abysmal meeting, hurrying off to DADA. "We'll meet after supper again. I need to get to class." I'm not late, not really, and the happy sight of Portia sitting at one of the table greets me as I pass through the DADA doors. She has rested her head on her table, her eyes slightly crossed as she examines a ring up close, keeping it upright with one finger. As she notices me hovering over her she quickly snatches the golden ring out of sight.

"It seems you can't avoid me forever," I say, sending her a charming smile.

"One can try," she says drily, rolling her eyes. My fists clench and unclenched. I'll admit, I'm not used to having to tolerate insolence.

I hum softly and drum my fingers, leaning back in my chair, keeping my eyes trained on her, causing her to squirm in her seat. She busies herself with straightening the ink well and quill on her desk. I sit forward, leaning closer to her, "You can put those away. You won't be needing them today."

Her nose crinkles up. "Why?"

There were others in the room now and more and more were coming in. I open my mouth to answer, a little disappointed that it's not just us anymore, when Professor Donovan pops up and answers for me, "We duel on Fridays, dearie."

Professor Donovan now moves up to the front of the room and waves her arms around for the classes attention. Her gray wiry hair sticks out messily from her bun and her specs complete her appearance of a chipper, eccentric old woman. "With your table partner, everyone get into pairs. This is who you'll be dueling this class time. I want you all to move the tables to the walls of the classroom. Admirable spell casting will be rewarded and using spells we learned this week will earn you extra points."

I smirk, getting to my feet and moving our table to the end of the room with a swish of my wand. If Portia is impressed by my nonverbal magic, she doesn't show it. Instead, she steps a ways away from me and with a flick of her wrist I see her wand in her hand before she turns around to face me.

"I'll go easy on you, you being a new student and all," I promise, noting how her expression sours.

"No need," she hisses through gritted teeth. She raises her wand.

"Alright… Begin!"

At first dueling with her is as pointless as dueling with the rest of the class. She sends spells my way and I lazily block them with protego or whatever counter spell that's necessary. Then, she starts to cast them nonverbally and I have to focus harder on her wand movements to counteract the spells. I grin, so she can do nonverbal spells too. I begin to send some nonverbal spells of my own, which to my surprise, she defends decently; dancing out of the way as a stinging hex comes flying towards her. She sends some spells which nearly get me, however, I disband them right before they hit. Her spells aren't overly powerful, I note, however she's quick – a little quicker than me, but my magic is stronger. She barrels out of the way as she is sent spells too powerful for her to quickly counteract.

Onlookers watch, impressed that she's stayed in for so long. However, we can all tell she still has no chance of winning. I send her more hexes which she tries to dodge, resulting in a cut lip and scratches on her jaw.

"You're free to surrender," I say jovially.

She glares at me, then sends a spell and for a moment I am caught off guard in the sense that I can't identify the spell to counter it. I'm sent backwards as a weird sensation begins in my nostrils. Bats start to fly out and my nasal passage stings as I fumble for any remembrance of this spell in the texts I read (**A/N if you don't recognize the spell, It's the bat bogey hex. Potter wiki says it was invented by Miranda Goshawk in the early 20th century, so evidentially, Riddle wouldn't know how to counteract it)**. I get up, the last of the bats flying out and settling on fly around the classroom, and the class's eruption of laughter dies down. I look positively livid, I'm sure, having been made to look like a fool by the new transfer.

* * *

I sit at the long, Slytherin house table; sore and badly bruised; cursing Riddle as Laurel prattles on about the match.

"That was one of the most brutal defeats I've seen by Riddle. He usually just defeats his opponent swiftly, without any extra, unnecessary force," she surveys me, pausing, "Don't worry, I know a spell to conceal the bruises. Those cuts, though, will have to heal on their own." I absent mindedly reach up to touch my cut lip and Laurel continues, "You did very well though. No one's ever unseated Riddle in a duel before. That spell… what was it?"

"Uh, Bat-Bogey Hex?" I supplied.

"Yes! That was brilliant! Even though he won, you bested the unbeatable Head Boy for a few seconds. Even the more advanced Gryffindors can't beat him," she laughs, "bet that kills them inside."

I finish up my meal and get up. "I have to go see one of the professors." Indeed, I've been thinking about it for days and I have decided to let Professor Dumbledore in on the fact that I've time travelled here from the future and the plan I was sent here to enact. I take out his ring – gold, missing a stone on its center. The plan had stated to leave the past Dumbledore out of everything if able, but if it came to it, to show this ring to him and he'd be able to recognize his own magic on the ring and it could confirm the truth to my words. If I understood correctly, this is the ring Tom had eventually made into a horcrux. It had nearly given me a heart attack when Riddle had sneaked up on me earlier today in class and _seen_ it. Of course, he hasn't seen the ring from this lifetime yet (not having murdered his uncle yet), and the feeling that this would come back to bite me when he _does_ hasn't left me since then.

As I step onto the stairway leading me up to his office, the stairway moves and I instead find myself facing a dark, unlit hallway. I poke my head into it, following the voices that come from one of the rooms. Immediately, I recognize one of them as Riddle. I sneak up to the door, putting my ear to it.

"-you will all leave quickly once the Slug Club draws to an end. Bring other members with somehow- make up an excuse, whatever. I need a word alone with Slughorn," I hear him saying.

"My Lord," one of the death-eaters says, and I realize a second too late that he was gesturing to the door. I have been spotted! I step away quickly only to be blasted into the wall a second later and the next thing I know, the force has caused me to black out.

* * *

I bury my head into the pillow, groaning as I awaken from my sleep, when I suddenly become uncomfortably aware that the pillow I had just snuggled into was not, in fact, a pillow, but a living _breathing_ person. I tumble off the bed, distancing myself from Riddle who is propped against the headboard, smirking down at me. I warily get off the ground and look around at the four poster beds that line the edges of this room.

"This is the boy's dormitories," he explained, calmly, though I could tell there was danger behind the calm – after all, I had overheard part of their death eater meeting.

"And you couldn't have just dropped me off in my _own_ bed?"

"Boys are magically prevented from going up the stairs to the girl's dorms," Riddle says **(A/N pretend with me here, I know it's only true for the girl's dorms, but..)**, "And girls from the boy's dormitories as well."

"If that's the case how did I get up here?" I challenge.

"You tell me." **(A/N connect this with the Head's Bath Room thing, they both happen for the same reason).**

He stares at me, as if trying to read my mind and I clear my thoughts and look away just in case he's performing legilimency without me knowing.

"Do you remember why you blacked out?" he said, feigning concern.

"N-no," I stammer, hoping he'll buy it, "All I remember is that I was on my way to Dumbledore's office when the staircase changed, After that, nothing."

His eyes narrow, disbelievingly. "As the first of my five questions, just how much did you hear from eavesdropping."

"Just that you want your followers to leave the Slug Club early to ask Slughorn about something," I choke out, the magic forcing me to tell the truth like I had just swallowed veritaserum.

"That's all?"

I nod.

He looks relieved and I wonder what I would've overheard had I arrived sooner.

"Here, allow me to escort you out," he says, rolling off of his bed. I'm reminded by the soft imprint my body left on the sheets of me with my arm resting on his stomach and face buried in against him. My face reddens as I follow him out. I had just spent the night using the Dark Lord as a giant teddy bear. Cringing, I descend the stairs to the common room.

**So as you can see, the future is clashing with the past as Portia and Tom interact. Also, a reminder that most of the questions you have about unexplained things will obviously be explained in future chapters (if I even make it that far). There are some altercations in this chapter as I've mentioned, but I did my best to keep it relevant to the books.**

**Thanks for anyone who followed/favorited/reviewed.**

**Oh and to anida258, I hope I don't have too much fluff. I'm aiming for quite the opposite. I was actually having a hard time picking genres. I felt I wasn't humorous enough for the humor genre and not serious enough for drama so I just went with romance because there's a love interest and general because I couldn't think of anything else. XD If you have any suggestions based off of these first three chapters for genre I can do that.**


	4. Repulsion is the Best Denial

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 4 – Repulsion is the Best Denial**

* * *

"I see," Dumbledore murmurs, leaning back in his chair and weaving his fingers together. He looks to be contemplating all that I've said.

"Well? What do I do?"

"Hmmm… I don't know," he says, "Riddle's taken a disturbing amount of interest in you, and I can't say I blame him."

I warily eye the lemon drops on his desk for a moment, mind spinning. "Oh yeah, what's with the wards anyways?" I snap, the thought just catching my mind, "Riddle says I shouldn't have been able to pass through them."

After thinking for a minute, Dumbledore mumbles, "Well time travellers have been known to be exceptions of spells and certain spell systems. Many powerful spells, like those of the founders, use a more complex magic. However, many complex magics have ridiculously stupid loop-holes. Most people forget that. For such strong magic to last so long it has to be so. When that spell was cast, it took into account everyone's place in their natural timeline – warding off everyone from entering so long as they belong in their own time. Then, when we're gone – when our time ends, the magic no longer accounts for us or holds against us. That would waste too much energy."

I've almost spaced out when Dumbledore suddenly says, louder, "You should get going. I hear there's a Hogsmeade trip coming up that's got some excited."

I get up and hurry out, not sure if the visit with Dumbledore helped… like, at all. Even weirder, it didn't seem like anything I was saying was new to him; that he already had known everything that I was telling him.

I run down to the Slytherin common room where Laurel is eagerly awaiting me for the Hogsmeade trip. "What's with all these people?"

"Oh! We're going with them… for the most part," Laurel says, laughing as Malfoy slings an arm around her, giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek; his eyes rolling back clearly under the influence of daddy's finest liquor. "We'll have to ditch them once we get there for a while to get dresses for the Halloween Dance and get back by 7 to meet up with them again. Do we have a surprise planned for you!"

They stagger out of the entry way, arm over arm, and I follow them out behind them. "Excited Fisher?"

I jump as I turn to see Riddle walking out right behind me. "What the hell! Could you possibly be less creepy next time when you sneak up on someone like that?"

"Ten points from Slytherin for foul language," Tom recites almost automatically. I bite my tongue and keep my silence, determined not to overreact to Tom, but apparently he's equally determined to piss me off today. He slips his arm over mine. I attempt to withdraw my arm but he pulls me closer and sends me a dangerous smile, his eyes flashing.

"What do you think you're doing?" I say through grit teeth, glancing around to make sure no one has seen us.

"Being a gentleman, of course." I snort cruelly and he looks mildly surprised, but he hides it almost instantly. A frown forms on my face as I think about this, eyes narrowing. He didn't honestly expect me to cling to his arm like a- like a… pureblood born and bred! I mentally slap myself. It's 1944, I'm supposedly a disciplined pureblood, and I've been the most unladylike potty-mouth of the entire student body. I groan at my own stupidity.

"Look, I haven't been feeling myself since I left America," I say, and with great difficulty, I add, "And I'm sorry for taking it out on you." I just hope I still have time to patch up this giant mistake and that he'll buy my sudden three-sixty turn of attitude, for I'm not the best liar.

He stays unreadable and the rest of our walk is spent in silence, excluding the giggling group of Slytherins in front of us, positively drunk. We've entered the village, passing by a few thatched cottages when I'm suddenly led left, slammed into the wall of an alley, hidden away from the group of Slytherins who just continue to make their way deeper into Hogsmeade.

"Alright," Tom says in cold fury, "Now I'm going to ask and you are going to tell the truth for once since the crap you've been pulling from the very first day of term." He's not even yelling, but it's the scariest voice I've ever heard. I definitely said the wrong thing back there. "You know what? Fuck. I'm asking you this as the second of my five questions. You're not a pureblood, are you? What are you then, huh?" his face contorts and his voice drops to a low whisper, "A Mudblood?"

There's a dangerous tone in his voice and a painful silence fills the air as his disgusting, perfect face towers directly above mine. I gulp and hide the surprise that has seeped onto my face before answering, "I'm a pureblood, Riddle, if that matters to you so much." By the end of my answer my words had soured to completely acidic. My back hurts and my mind reels. I've screwed up big, but hopefully my answer can buy me some trust for now.

"Good," he murmurs and I look up I see a flash of black hair before I feel the press of his lips against mine. I barely have time to register his hands ghosting lightly over my waist when I remember myself and violently push him away.

"Don't ever do anything like that ever again," I snarl, unable to hold back my utter revulsion and I leave him alone in that alleyway looking faintly as confused as I am over what he just did and why. I jog to reach the group I spot up ahead; Malfoy's bright blonde head bobbing up and down in a sea of people.

"Oh hey," Laurel says, smiling happily, "We were scared we'd gotten separated by these crowds. Come on, let's go shopping and leave them," she gestures to the rest of the group, "to their own devices." With her crooked smile, she drags me into this well lit shop strung full of fabrics and expensive dresses.

"Oooh, Miss Greengrass!" a tiny middle aged woman scurries out from the back of the store. "Welcome, welcome! I assume you're shopping for a dress for the annual Halloween Dance?"

"Yes Madame Baudin," Laurel says fondly, "I suppose you have something special for me. And perhaps something for my friend as well?"

Madame Baudin's eyes light up and she nods, scurrying in and out of the back room bringing back a dress that makes Laurel squeal. It's a little too sparkly for my tastes, but it's beautiful all the same. I go through the racks of dresses while Laurel goes to try on her dress but I don't find anything particularly interesting.

Laurel comes out of the changing rooms and spins for me to see.

"What are you supposed to be?" I say, "This is a _Halloween_ Ball, right?"

Laurel clears her throat, looking sternly down her nose at me. "I'm a queen," she says composedly, and after a second we both burst out laughing. "Well what are you going to be, anyways?"

"Uh, I haven't given it much thought," I say, my eyes falling upon a cute simple black dress. "Hey, this isn't so bad," I say, but Laurel rolls her eyes.

"No way," she tuts, "Madame Baudin, whatever shall we do with her?"

Madame Baudin steps back, surveying me with narrowed eyes. Then her eyes almost pop out of her head and she hurries behind the counter to pull out a white dress with golden woven fabric around the waist and hemming the neckline which flowed out in silky white waves stopping mid calf. It's perfect. "Here, try that on with these," she says slapping a neckpiece and a delicate gold chain headband into my hand.

When I step out of the changing room Laurel claps approvingly, "Madame Baudin, you've outdone yourself. All she needs is some eyeliner and she'll look like a bonafide Egyptian."

After paying for the dresses, we step out into the worn out roads of Hogsmeade. We wander around for a while, occasionally entering shops. Sometimes Laurel makes excuses to buy things, I notice, saying this and that is a gift for a family friend. However, I can see the sparkle in her eyes when she finds something she likes in the stores. "What time is it?" Laurel snaps all of a sudden.

"Uhh," I say, lifting my wrist to check my watch, "Six… six-fifty two?"

"WHATT," Laurel yells. We race down the road, down the cobbled street and finally we make our way to a dark little pub on the edge of the village.

"Where are we?" I say, as Laurel wrenches open the rusty door.

"The Flying Goblin," Laurel responds, "We always meet here."

"We?" I ask, then I see a table in the back with a bunch of Slytherins surrounding none other than Riddle. I try to step backwards, stumbling a bit, but Laurel leads me to their table and sits me down across from Riddle. Laurel trembles with excitement as she nods to the bartender and he goes to get some drinks for us.

* * *

I roll my eyes, "So you want me to join your baddie, purebloods-only secret society?" I feel sick.

"You have a choice and we only offer once," Malfoy drawls.

I bite my lip and for the first time since Laurel and I came into The Flying Goblin, Tom opens his mouth to speak. "Once you join you're in for life. There's no backing out," he says, briskly, "And you must be loyal to me above anybody else." He's been tapping his fingers throughout most of the meeting, and now as the time for me to answer nears he stops and I can see he's as impatient as ever.

I slouch back in my seat, uneasy over what I have to say next. "Alright, I'm in." Some of the table cheers, but Tom just smiles darkly, looking pleased at my choice as if I'm finally doing something right in his eyes. He's given no indication of what happened in the alleyway earlier, and that terrifies me too (not knowing why he did it or what he's going to do about it).

"Now there's just one last order of business," Tom says, "Hold out your left arm." I tremble, knowing and fearing what he'll do next. He reaches out his wand and silently taps my inner forearm with it. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut as a horrible, burning pain wracks my body and ink spreads on my arm to form a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.

"Quite the tough one, eh?" Jane Carrow leers as I hastily pull down my sleeve to hide the mark. She's wearing a horrible red lipstick and sits next to Tom who she constantly tries to get attention from.

Laurel sneers back at her, "Oh yeah, Carrow, I seem to remember you crying like a big baby when you got your mark." Carrow sends Laurel a scathing look, but Laurel just downs her glass of firewhiskey, glaring boldly back at her.

I stare at my arm, covered by my cloak, and feel the throbbing pain there. It's utterly repulsive. _Do it for Cole_, the little voice in the back of my head whispers and I take a large mouthful of firewhiskey as well, hoping it'll give me half the courage it seems to have bestowed upon Laurel. From across the table Riddle stares at me unblinking, calculating, probably thinking of how I fit into his murderous plans. A knot forms in my stomach, but I stare back pretending to be brave. _I'll destroy you even if it destroys me first._


	5. Arrangements

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 5 - Arrangements**

* * *

I wake up one Sunday morning to the sound of sobbing, and pushing my covers off me, I slip out of bed to go to the perch on the window where Laurel has curled up against the cold glass. Her hair hangs down past her shoulder and her eyes are shrouded in tears.

"Hey," I say, moving the trunk by her bed to sit on, "What's wrong?"

She sputters through sobs and I notice she's clutching a letter. Then, she begins to unravel between sniffling and wiping away her tears. "M-M-Malfoy asked me to the Halloween Dance."

"I don't get it Laurel… You can always say no," I say, trying to comfort her.

"No, I _have_ to say no," she replies, thrusting the letter into my hand. I unfold it and begin reading.

_Dear Laurel,_

_Things have been well back at the manor. The truth is, I'm writing this letter because something fantastic has happened. Father has arranged for you to marry Jonathan Carrow. The marriage won't take place until after your schooling, of course, but we're thinking about a summer wedding. Included are some decoration plans for the ceremony and I've already written to the headmaster so we can pick you up on one of the Hogsmeade weekends to look for wedding dresses._

The letter goes on, but I just put it down, unable to read any further. "What am I going to do, Portia? The Carrows! I'm going to kill myself if I'm to be stuck with having Jane Carrow as my sister in law," she chokes out.

"Look, you don't have to marry Carrow. If you find someone considered a better match like, say, Malfoy then wouldn't your parents consent to letting you break the engagement to Jonathan?"

Laurel moans, "The Carrows have been close family friends with ours for generations. Plus, all the respectable purebloods have been married off already. Malfoy, for instance, is to be married to one of the Prewett sisters."

"Maybe Jonathan isn't so bad. Have you ever met him? Does he go here?" I say, hopefully.

"Ughh we've met. He's, like, thirty or something," Laurel shudders, "And he reminds me of a smelly, floppy fish."

"Come on, let's get you into bed," I say, rubbing her back and leading her to her four-poster.

* * *

"So…" the Ravenclaw Head Girl purred, sliding her hand onto my chest, "Are you going with anyone to the Halloween Dance?"

I removed her hand from my chest. It has started again; once October came, the days just seemed to spiral towards the Halloween Dance. I put on a charismatic smile. "Not yet, but I have someone in mind."

Her grin widens. "Oh really?" and her hands somehow find their way onto me again. The stupid bint thinks by 'someone' I'm implying her.

I clear my throat. "I was thinking about asking Portia Fisher." Her sultry expression drops off her face and as I remove her hands again I add, "If you can't keep your hands to yourself, I will unfortunately be forced to report you for sexual harassment." She turns bright red and mumbles something unintelligible, scurrying back to her room.

A smile takes root on my face as I head out to the breakfast table, grabbing a scone and an apple and heading out to the library. By the time I return from some light reading, others have come down for breakfast.

"We need to talk," Portia snarls, failing to control her anger as per usual and sitting down next to me a few minutes after I had seated myself.

"What is it?" I say, glancing over at her before cutting up some pieces of scrambled egg and sticking some in my mouth.

"Half the girls in this school are out to get me and it's your fault. What were you thinking when you told our dearest Head Girl that you were planning on asking me to the dance?"

I shrug. "I was thinking of asking you to the dance."

"No," she says, stone faced.

I smirk. "Don't get cocky… I haven't even ask you yet."

She opens her mouth in protest, but I've gotten up and with my book bag in tow and when I look back she's still sitting there staring so I give her a wink and she scowls.

* * *

This week has been nothing short of awful. Three times I've had to run to the bathrooms to clean myself off of whatever had been unceremoniously spilled over my head. Hogwarts girls could be vindictive little bitches. On my second trip there, I had been cornered and screamed at by a group of Ravenclaws, getting revenge for their Head Girl, supposedly, but really fuelled by their own bitterness.

Even worse, I'm late for my last class of the day. Luckily, when I get in, Professor Donovan doesn't seem to notice and I go stand next to Laurel as people are moving the tables to the side of the classroom.

"Hey, want to hang out after class? I know the way to the kitchens and we can sit and talk. I know you've not been feeling your best lately," I whisper, and Professor Donovan turns around and sends me a stern look. Alright, maybe she had noticed.

"Oh that sounds great," Laurel says, but then her face falls. "No wait, I can't. I have this meeting for the Slug Club tonight that I am expected to attend."

"No, that's fine. Some other time then," I say, as I recall Riddle's orders regarding the Slug Club when I had been listening in. I feel a hand on my arm and am turned around to see Riddle and jump.

"Fisher, you ready to duel?"

I heave a sigh and follow him to an open area in the room, getting out my wand.

"I have a proposition to make you," Riddle said, taking out his own wand.

"What?"

"Why don't we put some stakes on who wins the duel?" He twirls his wand and smirks down at me. "I win and you go with me to the dance."

"And if I win? What could you possibly promise me?"

"Anything you want, sweetheart." I send him a cold look before turning away to think for a moment. I could win this thing. If I stick to modern spells I could catch him off guard, regardless of his advanced level of casting. I have to try, anyhow.

"Fine," I say, backing up and going into fighting stance, bracing myself. I held up against his death eaters, grown men, for months. I can do this. _I can do this_.

He hasn't stopped twirling his wand nonchalant in his stance. "Any time you want to start, just go ahead."

The moment he stops talking I send a vicious hex his way, but he simply steps to the side and sends one back to me which I dodge. It leaves a deep gash in the table next to me and I look back accusatorily at him. He just smiles and waits for me to continue. He's playing with me like I'm a mouse and he's the cat. I send an '_alarte ascendare'_ towards him which he blocks with a simple protego.

I send the _anteoculatia_ spell at him and he begins antlers start to form on his head, but with a wave of his wand he makes them disappear in an instant.

"This isn't a game, Portia. I'm beginning to think you're not even trying."

_Exumai_, I cast, and it hits him in the shoulder, causing him to stumble back. He shoots a spell towards me and gashes appear at my sides before I realize they are spreading across my body like ropes. It's almost identical to the _incarcerous_ spell, except these ropes slice into my skin.

When the spell recedes the gashes disappear but still sting. I continue to fling several spells his way and he returns them with equal vigor. By the end of it I'm panting and bruised, glaring at Tom who doesn't have a hair out of place.

I slash my wand through the air but with a simple flick Riddle blocks it. "I don't like hurting you, Portia. Why don't you just give up. You can't beat me."

"I can try." I send a string of spells at him, but a second later I am on the floor with a heavy crushing pressure holding me down.

I look up to see Tom and Professor Donovan looking down at me.

"Great use of the _deprimo_ spell, Tom, ten points to Slytherin," she says, lifting the spell. She moves on to the next group.

I lift myself up off the ground and Riddle approaches me. Tucking a strand behind my ears he whispers before leaving the classroom, "See you at the dance."

* * *

I sneak out of the Slytherin common rooms, hoping to God I won't meet any teachers or patrolling prefects on my way to Slughorn's classroom. The Slug Club should be over soon and I need to be there when everyone's dismissed. That is, everyone except Tom. I'm nearly there when I have to duck behind a statue as a stream of students exit Slughorn's classroom. When they leave I walk up to the classroom and put my ear to the door.

"Tom, Tom…" said Slughorn, "What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter – thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite."

I heave a shaky breath, and try to think of what to do. I lean my ear to the door again. "Sir, I wanted to ask you something…. I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"

There's no time to think and I need to do _something_. I look around and as Slughorn starts to speak again my hands wrap around the edges of a tall wooden pedestal, on top of which is a giant ugly vase. Putting it out of its misery, I push, sending the table to the ground and the vase with it. Hearing Slughorn's startled exclamation from within the room, I run; feet hitting the cold stone in quick clamoring smacks.

**Sorry for the filler chapter. I don't know when I'll next update again seeing as I've run out of my reserve chapters but I will be working on the next chapter tonight and hope this will be just the start for our little saboteur.**


	6. Stains on Sleeves

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 6 – Stains on Sleeves**

**Warning, Dark Tom Ahead! Oh, also, I don't know when I'll be able to upload again it may take quite a while.**

* * *

Sitting next to Laurel and Malfoy, I scope out Tom from across the table. The only indication in his façade of perfection that he is pissed off from last night is the flash of red you catch if you stare too long. And unfortunately, I had been staring too long.

"What is it?" Riddle snaps, suspiciously.

I roll my eyes, "Nothing, sweet prince."

"I told you to stop calling me that. It's Lord. _Lord_ Voldemort," he orders in a mildly irritable way.

I smile, and taking a fork, steal some food off of his plate. He ignores this, always holding up his cold emotionless shield, but Laurel and Malfoy look petrified. I shrug off the look she gives me. Ever since the duel I've been pushing his buttons. I reckon he can't kill me, because then he'd have no date to the Halloween Ball. Not that he couldn't find another in an instant, but whatever.

"Have you got a dress for the dance tonight?" Tom asks, bored but stiff jawed, "I do hope it's not some stupid costume."

I remain silent, trying to suppress a small smile to which Tom sighs, frustrated, at. "I have your first task as a Knight of Walpurgis set for tonight as well. Meet me in the dungeons an hour before the dance starts."

"The dungeons.." I say, gloomily. Maybe he will try to off me after all.

* * *

By the time we get out of our last class, the bathrooms are bursting with girls trying to get ready for the dance. Elbowing past several Hufflepuff girls, Laurel pulls me to the corner of the bathroom by some tall mirrors and pushes my dress into my arms. When she's done prepping me I have to hurry off to meet Tom in the dungeons – hair and makeup only kept in place by the spells Laurel cast.

When I enter, I see Tom leaning over a young girl, seemingly chatting her up. When he notices my arrival, however, his oozing charm drops and instead, he stares without saying anything; surveying my costume. I too take in his simple dress robes that look neat and handsome. He looks handsome.

The girl starts to get jealous of Tom's sudden direction of his attention towards me, for she whines, "To-om."

"Be quiet," Tom says, his voice harsh and sharp.

She looks taken aback, as if she has just been slapped across the face. "Tom?" she says, shakily. Her voice wavers with uncertainty.

"Close the door, Portia," Tom's authoritative voice rings across the room. I close it and cast the alohomora charm.

Tom points his wand at the door and mutters, "Muffliato."

At this I grow suspicious. "Tom, why is _she_ here?"

"Crucio her." The girl's eyes go wide and a nervous laughter escapes her as if she cannot believe this is really happening. But soon it sinks in and she looks frantically back and forth from me to Tom.

"What?!" she says in horror, before I can.

"You took my diary and now you must pay the price for all you have wronged me."

She lets out a strangled cry as he sets the crutiatus curse on her and I wince heavily. When he's done he turns to me, _smiling_. "Your turn."

I stumble backwards. "Are you joking?"

"You're a Knight of Walpurgis. I tell you what to do, and you do it. Without question." He leans back on the cool castle wall and watches, waiting for me to do as he said. After a while he grows impatient and taking my wand hand in his, he forces it to point at the girl. "You are not a girl anymore, Portia, you are not a student. You are a soldier – you will do anything for me."

I look into his flashing eyes, alive with excitement to the girl who is cowering on the floor. I swallow. "Crucio."

* * *

I finally lower my wand as Riddle nods to me to stop. He steps forward. "Obliviate," he says, wiping the poor girl's memory clean and helping her up.

"Wh- where am I?" she says.

"We were talking and you fainted," Riddle says, kindly.

"Oh," she giggles, leaning heavily against Riddle's shoulder like a needy puppy.

"You should get to the hospital wing. Hopefully you will feel better by the dance," he says politely, guiding her out of the room and closing the door behind her. Then, he turns to me.

"You did well."

I don't answer for nearly a minute. Then, it all comes out like vomit, "Fuck, Riddle. She was just a kid. What was the point of that!?"

"She took my diary. I have, in there, things that if the wrong people got their hands on… it would be disastrous for the knights. She could have been a spy… sent by Dumbledore. She could have put us all in danger by taking it," he says, persuading, "She could have been a spy."

"You know she wasn't," I whisper, disgusted with not only him, but myself as well. "You did this just to watch me do it. You did this all for nothing."

"I did this to test your loyalty to me. I did this to show you what you must be prepared to do. There are great things set in the future for the two of us, Portia."

* * *

After the puke-fest that followed the task Riddle had given me, I wipe some sick from my mouth and tremble in front of the mirror. Most of the other bathrooms still had some girls in it, but this one remained untouched. Apparently a girl had died here some years previous. I wipe tears away from my undamaged makeup and head out for the dance.

The Halls have been decorated by glittery cobwebs and emerald black spiders. Pumpkin heads float along, smiling at the guests and making merry with the teachers. Bats flit from the ceiling, swooping down occasional in aerobatic somersaults midair.

As I near the entranceway I see Riddle come towards me. Offering his arm to me, he gives no indication of what had happened an hour before. I take it, hesitantly, heart pounding out of my chest for all the wrong reasons.

Most of the dance is spent in crazily loud music. "Are you still cross with me?" Tom asks.

"What do you think?" I replied, curtly, "That girl was just one of your fans. The only reason she would have taken the diary would have been because she wanted to get to know you better – to understand you in whichever way possible."

"Understand me?" he says coldly, "They could never be close enough to even try."

I let Tom continue to be emo and spend most of my time after that ignoring him. Of course, it's not that difficult either, because every time he tries to speak the loud blaring music cuts him off. It's quite comical, actually.

Riddle simply stands stock still, looking warily at the chattering school-girls who eye him hungrily. Laurel and I dance with no constraint, soon ending up in the center of the sweaty crowd. Laurel, however, seems to have accounted for everything with the spells she cast earlier and we are unaffected. I am determined to distract myself with these loud noises and people pressing in on us from all sides.

A slow song starts playing and Laurel and I make our way to the punch line, however I'm swung around. "Dance with me."

"One second, I'm thirsty," I dismiss him.

However, Riddle has other plans. "I'm being eaten alive," Riddle fumes, signifying the girls who had been asking him to dance since he walked in, "I didn't ask you to the dance to have you ignore me all night."

He brings me closer, wrapping his arms around my shoulder and my waist so that I fit snugly; my head tucked into the crook of neck. Yet, I'm uncomfortable. My whole body is tense with anticipation.

Finally, Riddle speaks. "Loosen up," he mutters, rubbing small circles into my lower back.

"You're telling _me_to loosen up? _Me_? When you're the hermit who spends all his time reading or doing school work – all the while plotting world domination," I scoff, "Yes, you sure know how to party."

We sway back and forth for a few moments. "Look," he says, startling me, and I turn my head to see a gaggle of girls all staring daggers at me. "Don't they look ridiculous?" Riddle chuckles and I join in. "Would you like to give them something they'd _really _be jealous of?" he says with a smirk. I start to ask him what the hell he was talking about when his lips are cast over mine, pressing feverishly against my mouth. I get lost in the moment, fingers weaving their way into his wavy black hair.

I push away far too late, and that's the only thought that replays in my mind as I push through the crowd. As I make it outside the Great Hall into the dimly lit corridor I run through the names of all of my friends and family lost in the battle against Tom's supporters, determined not to forget what I am here for – well, who I am here for.

"Portia!" I hear him yell behind me. "Portia, stop!" He slams me into the wall. "You have no idea how sick I am of chasing after you. You must know that the reason I…" he trails off, looking frustrated, "You must know that I want you to be by my side when I take power."

"What, like be your dark queen as you gallivant across the country on your quest to quench your thirst for power?" I ridicule him, bitingly.

"He ignores this, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You're better than the rest of them, Portia – special, like me. These idiots… they are weak. We could take anyone who stands in our path, easily, together."

_**Flashback**_

_"You don't have to do it," I say, bitterly. I knew I was lying and he knew it too._

_"Portia," Cole says, exasperated, but I cut him off._

_"It's a horrible plan!"_

_"It's the only plan!" Cole murmurs._

_I sit quietly for a moment, thinking. "Do you think you can do it?" I say, "Do you think you can kill?" The thought had been messing me up for the past year or so. Cole is the kindest person I know and I just can't see him tear himself apart that way._

_"I have to. If I had just to kill Voldemort, then another would take his place. It can't be another. It has to be **me**. I will be forced to do horrible things – kill innocent people, but at least then I will know when to stop. When to be defeated."_

_"It shouldn't be you," I mutter, miserable. Cole stays silent, returning to his book._

"Well?"

"Alright," I say, kissing him back with the full intention of betraying him.

**No, Tom obviously doesn't have feelings for her right now or anything, but he _is_ serious about her helping him gain power. Remember, Tom is manipulative… he's not the only one with a hidden agenda. In fact, he wouldn't love her – he sees love as weak. His kisses are a means to an end. I actually find it rather amusing that they are trying to fool each other without knowing that they are being fooled themselves.**


	7. Let the Deviousness Begin!

**This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.**

**Chapter 7 – Let the Deviousness Begin!**

**So, as you can see, Dame LeeLee, I saw your review and named this chapter this because of it. I would just like you and anyone else who has taken the time to read my fanfiction to know that I really appreciate it. Also, to Cassie-D1 – *insert evil cackle***

* * *

I wake up with a start; tears streaming down my face. I had dreamt about _her_ again. It was like a horrible replay of that afternoon in the dungeons, only it was worse. Riddle was egging me on harshly, his voice rough yet his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. The girl was squirming in pain on the floor, only this time it was as if I could hear her broken thoughts. Choruses of "Help!" and the guttural, "Why me?" rang in my ears. In turn, I kept telling her I was sorry. Then, the dream would always end with Riddle padding over to me and holding my face up with his hand, he would tell me, "Good job," and at those words I would jolt awake.

I look over to see Laurel crouched over my bed. "Been having those nightmares again?" She casts a pitying expression over me before getting off of my four-poster.

"D-did you wake me?" I ask.

"Yeah."

I feel like my legs are made of lead, but I shrug on a sweater that is laying nearby before sliding out of the sheets. It is still early, and I am still tired but I don't feel like going back to bed so instead I murmur to Laurel that I'm going to go off and have some breakfast.

She makes a noise that sounds like 'mmmhkay' and sidles back off into bed, pulling the curtains closed behind her.

Stepping out of the dungeons, I make a detour to the grounds, trudging along some of the more swampier parts of Hogwarts. The sticky muddy grass sinks slightly under each footstep – the funny noise distracting me from my unhappiness. I look up from my dirtied shoes and suddenly become aware that Dumbledore is standing some ways ahead of me; seemingly admiring the view of a small weedy looking area where some gnomes are having a quarrel. I edge closer to where he's standing, not sure if I should say anything or even if he knows that I'm here.

"Up so early?" he asks suddenly, making me jump.

"Eh, yeah," I say, watching one gnome head-butt another, "I've been having trouble sleeping."

"Would that have something to do with your mission?"

I squint a little, still watching the gnomes, "I sometimes wonder if I'll be able to do it."

"I understand that you're not the one they had originally planned to send back?"

I nod, glumly. I had recently been very doubtful of the whole plan, especially because of the events in the dungeon. If crucio-ing one person could shake me up like this, how could I kill? _You'll be like a story-tale villain_, they had said to Cole, _One that eventually falls in the face of good. That is what we have picked you for._

"There are more ways than one to skin a cat," Dumbledore says, and as if that wasn't cryptic enough, he adds, "And sometimes one finds such things avoidable, at best." His eyes are twinkling as he smiles down at me.

"Er… right," I say and I excuse myself, marching back up to the castle.

I make it up to the Great Hall a few minutes before Laurel and our usual group appear. Playing with my pork and eggs I try to pay attention as Laurel talks about her family's charity ball this winter.

Something catches me eye. Actually someone. The cherry brown hair of the girl from the dungeon bobs happily as she makes her way to the Gryffindor table with her friends. She looks happy enough, flicking her hair back and listening intently to her friend. Her mouth quirks into a smile, a fork full of food resting close to her mouth before she starts laughing, lowering her fork and instead, saying something in reply.

Fingers snap in my face and I turn to see Laurel. "Hello?" she says, "Is anyone there?"

"Hmm- what?" I say, forcing my gaze back to Laurel after flickering to the girl a couple times.

"I _said_, if you don't have any plans for the holidays you could stay with me at my house and have Christmas with us."

"Oh," I say, my eyebrows knitting together, "Yeah, I'll have to check with my aunt, but that sounds good. You sure your parents won't mind?"

"They are oblivious to everything, first of all. Secondly, they won't really care," she says, "It's a big enough manor that each of us could go about our day and not bump into each other."

"I'm going to get to class," I say, watching the girl leave the Gryffindor table.

"We still have some time, Portia."

I shrug, telling her that I'll see her there and hurry off after the group of Gryffindors.

"Hey!" I say, and they turn – eyeing my Slytherin colors warily. "Hey, your name is Carly, isn't it?"

"Yes…" she says, suspicious.

"Hi, I'm Portia!"

* * *

**Tom's POV**

I walk into our co-joined charms class on Fridays with some of the lower classes and see Portia chatting with the girl who had stolen my dairy. When I had gotten it back I had gone to farther lengths to secure it. Damn, I must have left it out with my other school books and she must have… god, how could I have made such a stupid little mistake? Now it was not only more guarded, but I had charmed it to look like some random book if anybody but me opened it.

Now I was in utter confusion at what Portia was doing talking to the girl. Sure, those of us in advanced potions who finished early were asked by Flitwick to help some of the younger students on their charms, but _why her_? They looked so chummy too; Carly talking on and on as Portia listened, nodding her head.

When class is over I watch her say goodbye to Carly and as she walks out the door I follow behind her.

"This way," I murmur, coming up behind her and steering her away from everyone else. I pull her into a secluded recess of the castle. "What the hell are you doing, Portia?"

She stays infuriatingly silent for a while, then, "Tom, can we go? I don't want to talk about this with you."

A muscle ticks in my jaw and I stand back, pausing before telling her, "Laurel told me you were having nightmares."

She scowls, muttering something about me using my connections like a 'right bastard' to receive reports on her.

"She doesn't remember any of it. You saw her today – she's gone back to being as annoyingly chipper as ever," I persuade her, and fortunately, her lips involuntarily twitch upwards.

"She is kind of annoying…"

I look down at her, her lips still quirked upward in a repressed smile of sorts. I'm drawn closer to them and shortly thereafter I place a small kiss on them.

"W-what was that for?" she says, flustered.

I open my mouth and the perfect line comes tumbling out. "Isn't this what couples do?"

She looks taken aback, eyes wide in doe eyed astonishment and mouth gaping open. Then, after a look of calculation that I wouldn't have expected her to pull off, her eyes narrow in disbelief, as if to scan mine for sincerity. Unable to find anything that could pass as confirmation, she drops her scrutinizing inspection, replying with a noncommittal noise from the back of her throat.

I'm ecstatic at my victory, noticing the pleasant blush that has dusted her cheeks. "What? No witty remarks or vicious punnery?" I tease, stepping forward until my face lingers an inch or so from her face. My arms circle around her waist and I wait for her reply, mouth cocked into a crooked smile.

Then I was the one to be taken by surprise. Portia's eyes light up and I feel her hands slide under the cloak of my school uniform. I begin to look down at what she's doing but she captures my lips in hers. It's the first time she's taken any initiative and I'm definitely enjoying it – a quiet moan escaping my throat.

I get so lost in the kiss that when she breaks away I'm almost disappointed. "I have muggle studies so… see you later," she says, a sly expression on her face.

It takes me until the time I get to ancient runes to realize she's stolen my wand.

**Okay so it's five in the morning and I apologize if there are grammar mistakes, or really mistakes in general, but I WILL go back when I have the strength and willpower and read through and correct everything.**


	8. Where it Gets You, Asking Nice

This is a Tom/OC fanfiction.

Chapter 8 – Where it Gets You, Asking Nice.

* * *

I curse, pacing my room (the Head Boy dorm). I had tried to hunt down Portia after Ancient Runes, but Laurel had confirmed for me that Portia had resigned to the girl's dormitories; holed up there out of reach. Even if I managed to go up there without the students in the common room noticing, the founder's magic has never failed before. Except when it comes to her. If I knew what questions to ask, I would've figured her out already. I flip open my diary – now disguised as a simple potions book - to the page dedicated to making sense of Portia. On it, beside wild scribbles, is the same drawing I had seen her doodle in class. Of course, that had merely been a coincidence. Against all of my logic, all of my self assurance that she _didn't_ know, I still remember the shudder she had tried to repress before turning back to the front of the room. Why else would she have that look on her face if she didn't know? But at the same time, how _could_ she know?

I clenched my hand into a fist, feeling frustrated at not having any useful information on her and not having my wand. To not be able to perform magic had to be the greatest disability, so I had borrowed Malfoy's crap twig. My mind jumps to my father. This summer, I had gone on a massive search for him. I've known for some time now that I had been wrong all along. It was my mother who had been a witch, with the blood of Salazar coursing through her veins, no less. My fingernails dug into the palm of my hand, drawing some blood. She could've just performed magic and saved the both of us. She could've at least lived for me.

I wipe off the blood from my hand and my gaze falls to the dark mark on my forearm. _Well, I wonder_, I think, pulling the sleeve back to reveal the skull and snake in it's entirety. If I couldn't go to her, then she'd have to come to me. I press Malfoy's wand to the dark mark and the snake circles around it, hissing. _Portia_.

She could try to avoid the summons at first, but the longer she declines, the hotter the mark will burn. I sit back and wait, twirling Malfoy's wand in one hand.

* * *

I stumble wildly out of the corridor, a growl escaping my throat as another wave of pain rolls through me. Finally, the pain easing a little with each step, I make it to Tom's room. I slap my hands against the door, hammering on the thick wood that I was sure Tom was behind.

"Tom, open the door," I spit out through gritted teeth.

"Who is it?" Tom drawls, with obvious feigned ignorance.

"I'm going to kill you," I grumble, not amused, and I hear a chuckle from the other side of the door. When it finally swings open I stumble in with it, knocking into Riddle – the pain receding immediately. He has a hand on my arm and he steadies me, probably taking in how much of a mess I look. He's in a plain grey sweater, his school robes cast aside on a chair near his writing desk.

Curious, I look around the room, regaining my bearings; my annoyance melting away. Everything is neat, organized – impeccably so – just like Riddle. It makes me want to tear it apart and mess things up a bit. I wonder if Riddle has OCD. Even the few pens on his desk are arranged straight. I walk past Riddle, further into the room and as I make my way past the desk I let my fingers trail over it, sending one of the pens askew. Riddle follows me to where I stand, arms crossed, and on his way to me he fixes the out of place pen. I smirk.

"My wand, Portia," he orders.

"And what do I get in return?" I say, eyes narrowed, sounding scarily Slytherin.

"I won't crucio you, for one," Riddle says, and I notice he is being completely serious. "You know what happened last time someone took something from me when they had no right to."

"Which in turn gives you the right to crucio them?" I challenge, walking back over to the door.

"Where are you going?" Tom says, his voice a mixture of alarm and anger.

"To bed," I say wearily, reaching for the door knob, but I'm jerked away from it before I touch it. We play tug of war with my arm but Riddle wins out in the end, as was probably inevitable in the first place.

He still has his arms around me, his usually perfect hair slightly ruffled. "Can you let me go?" I say, bitingly.

"Well are you going to stay put?" he asks evenly, beady eyes narrowed down at me.

I want to punch him in the face, but manage to chew out, "Yes," so he lets his arms fall to his sides We stay there for a while, silent, both of us angry at each other.

"What do you want then?" Tom sneers.

"What?" I snap, surprised.

"For my wand?" he reminds me, irritated.

"Oh," I say, confused. I hadn't actually expected him to back down. My nose crinkles up as I think. It's not as if I can ask him to give up his evil pursuits and live a humble, honest life. But that didn't mean I couldn't mess with him just a little. "Well, why don't you start by asking nicely?"

He rolled his eyes, and after a while says curtly, "May I have my wand back?"

"What's the magic word?" I smirk, prodding him gently in the stomach to prompt him on.

"Accio wand," he replies, flippantly. I give him a pointed look and he gives me a scolding expression in return, his mouth twisted uncomfortably. "Please," he murmurs slowly, as if testing the word out for the first time; the sound rolling off of his tongue a pleasant surprise to me. Has Tom ever had to plead for anything before, I wonder?

"Hmmm… I don't know. I was thinking of something a little more convincing," I joke, my smirk spreading wider on my face.

"Well," he says, stepping forward, backing me closer to the bed, "I suppose I'll just have to try harder." I hit the edge of the mattress and emit a small 'oomph' as I fall onto the spread of sheets. He immediately follows, straddling my waist.

"Get off me," I insisted indignantly, trying to fend him off. With his victorious smirk still in place, he grabs at my wrists to stop me from my attempted violent overthrow.

"I don't think you're any position to be making demands," he clucked, "So why don't you start by asking nicely." His grin widens.

When my efforts of trying to worm out from under him fail, I decide to just give him what he wants. After all, there's no arguing with a psychopath. "Will you _please_ get the hell off of me?"

"No."

"No!? I said please!"

"Doesn't mean I'm now entitled to do whatever you ask," he says, his face a few inches from mine. My brain stops functioning, not working past focusing on Riddle. He moves so that he's not quite straddling me anymore, but I'm frozen in place. Even knowing that he's Voldemort barely seems to matter right now or even help against his disarming features. I start to feel the self loathing, but it's replaced by static as I feel his lips on mine.

I grabbed his sweater and tugged, demanding more of the kiss, but Tom breaks the kiss; his face still lingering over mine, tentatively examining my face for god knows what.

"I should get back to bed," I say, sitting up and starting to get out.

"Mmm, no use," Tom protests, his arms circling my waist, "The halls will be crawling with teachers and prefects at this hour."

"What are you saying? It's barely eight."

"In the past two years, patrols have been lengthened in response to the death of some third year in the first floor's girl's lavatory," he murmured.

I blinked stupidly, lost in thought. I had heard mention of the story from Laurel over breakfast one day. _The first floor bathroom? Oh, yeah, some girl died in there a couple of years ago, _Laurel had said. "What did you say that girl's name was?"

"Myrtle." I flinch. I remember the name, stamped across one of the files fanned out on Cole's desk. Cole had memorized every word of those files; he took a look at them every night.

I dampen my lips by licking them nervously. Had Riddle killed her too? _A third year._ I knew he was capable of it, but it's still shocking. I jump as he buries his face into the crook of my neck, resting his head there contentedly.

* * *

When I wake up, Portia has already left. Stretching, I check my clock and roll out of bed. On the nightstand sits my wand. I grab it, twirling it between my fingers happily. I pull out my heavy black cloak, prepping myself for the nippy November air, and am met by an alluring smile.

"Miss me?" Victoria Selwyn purred, looping her arms around my neck and planting a large kiss on my mouth. I smile, shrugging politely. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with the new transfer," she pouted, "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me.

"I haven't forgotten." I enjoyed Victoria's company because of some of our shared qualities. For one, we both knew how to get what we wanted. Initially, I had charmed her for her connections – her father works with the minister of magic. However, we had fallen under some sort of agreement in the past few years.

"Saw you with the McLaggen boy," I say, slipping my arm around her waist.

"Oh, yes, daddy wants me to consider him as a marriage prospect."

I nod. "Yes, the McLaggens are a prominent pureblood family. They trace nearly as far back as your own."

"Whatever. I'll put up with him… for now. Until then we have to continue sneaking around."

I give her a look.

"Kidding!" she laughs, "I know you want our late night trysts to stay a secret." I relax. I had started seeing her because she was discreet. She didn't want more than a physical relation ship, so she wasn't clingy like the other girls who'd all babble to their friends.

"Tonight then," I say, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Tonight," she promises before slinking off to her next class.

**Sorry for the long wait, I've been in a rush to finish my summer AP homework. Thanks to anyone who favorited, followed, reviewed or even just gave my fanfiction a chance and a special thanks to Rudolphx. Your review made me really really happy. :)**


End file.
